The Caretaker
by grotesqueGrip
Summary: WARNING: SEASON 9 SPOILERS - Human Cas gets sick for the first time since falling. The only person he can think to call, the only person he really wants to call, is Dean Winchester. Destiel - Possible smut later on? - We'll see where it goes.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Dean lifted the glass to his lips and drank deeply. Whiskey burned his throat and tongue. That familiar warmth spread through his stomach and chest, but it wasn't as relieving as he had hoped. He was pissed at himself. He kept glancing nervously at the cell phone on the kitchen table in front of him. He had to admit, he was kind of hoping that Cas would call. If only he could apologize for casting him out like that...

If only that apology would change anything.

Instinctively, he reached for the bottle. Nope, no, not happening. No emotions today. Do it right, with a smile, or don't do it at all, right? Right. The phone rang and the bottle slipped from Dean's hands, clattering to the floor and spilling its contents. "Son of a bitch!" he hissed, scrambling to wipe the whiskey off of the phone before it could do any damage. He froze. The caller ID was displaying a familiar number. The cell phone he had given to Cas.

"Hello?" Dean's voice cracked as he spoke.  
"Dean, something is wrong. I think my human body is dying." Castiel's voice was hoarse and weak.  
"What? What happened?"  
"I'm having trouble breathing and something is wrong with my throat and lungs. Are you familiar with this kind of phenomenon?"  
"Hold on, where are you?"  
He wrote down the motel's address on the back of a napkin, told Cas to hang in there, and left without cleaning up the spilled liquor.

As Dean started the car, he reassured himself that Cas was probably just sick - not dying of some sort of stab wound. He wasn't an angel anymore, stab wounds and the like were actually a threat now. He tried to remind himself that it was a bad habit to always assume that the worst had/has happened. Unfortunately he could think of too many incidents where the worst_ had_ happened. He muttered curses under his breath the entire drive, both at himself for ever letting Cas out of his sight, and at Cas for ever listening to him.

Ok, these chapters will most likely be rather short and I will do my best to update this story _at least _once a week. Comments and feedback are not only welcome, but officially requested!

-gG


	2. Chapter 2

Dean knocked again, with much less patience this time. The motel door was locked. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind - mostly of terrible fates that Cas may have suffered. Images of bullet wounds and stab wounds flashed quite vividly through his imagination.

"Cas? It's me. Door's locked." Silence. No response, no movement. He wasn't going to wait any longer. His imagination was running too wild. Dropping to one knee, Dean took out his lock pick and set to work. It wasn't very effective, considering how numb his hands were. It was November and Dean hadn't bothered to grab his gloves on his way out. He dropped the lock pick twice before the door swung open and a familiar face looked down at him.

"Hello, Dean."  
"Hey Cas." Dean stood slowly. Smiling at his old friend, his only friend really, he gave a quiet sigh of relief. Castiel's face was flushed with fever and his white button-up work shirt was half undone, exposing the firm muscles of his chest beneath. Which, Dean noted to himself, stirred a rather uncomfortably comfortable feeling in him. But there was no apparent blood or grevious injury, and that was all Dean needed to know.

"I must admit that I am slightly surprised that you came all the way out here, Dean. I thought"  
"No, stop right there. You're family, Cas. That's what family does, they-"  
"Look out for each other. Yes, you've said that before. I was unsure as to whether or not that still applied to me."

The way Castiel looked up at Dean in that moment was difficult for him to process. He looked sheepish and hurt. Dean couldn't bring himself to say anything. There was nothing to say that would make any amount of difference. He understood what Cas was implying. That he thought Dean had truly kicked him out. Not only from the bunker but from the Winchester family altogether. He never meant it that way, not at all. He never meant for Cas to feel like he didn't belong there. He never meant for Cas to feel so abandoned. As Castiel turned and walked back into the room, throwing himself down on the bed, Dean felt like a complete asshole. Perhaps, he realized, he should have thought about that a little more. About how helpless and hurt Cas would be. About how vulnerable he would be on his own. About how horrific the world must seem to someone who was previously immune to all of life's true discomforts.

"Dean, I don't know what's happening."  
"What hurts?" He swallowed hard and entered the room, closing and locking the door behind him.  
"My throat and chest, mostly. I feel uncomfortably cold, and then uncomfortably hot. Am I dying already?"

_Jesus Christ he looks like a scared puppy...and I sent him out here alone. Dammit!_

"No, Cas, you're not dying. Nobody's dying. I've had enough of the whole freaking concept of dying." He sigh and sat down on the bed across from Cas. "You're just sick. Probably a bad cold or the flu or something. Let me feel your forehead." Castiel's skin was hot.

Cas pushed his face up into Dean's cold hand and let out a soft sigh. A weak half-smile pulled at the corner of Dean's mouth. He held his hand there until Castiel looked up at him expectantly, waiting for a response.

"Well, you've definitely got a fever. I can run out to the store and get you some...stuff." He would have to call Sam on his way out and ask what to get.  
"Will you be back soon?"  
Dean smiled. "I'll be quick, okay? Just stay in bed and cover up, alright? And no dying."

**- Sam -**

Sam Winchester was not amused. His cell rang and he reached for it, both relieved and furious at the sight of Dean's number on the caller ID.  
"Dean! Where the hell are you?"  
"Well, gee, good morning to you too Sammy."  
"Dude! I came back and there's no you, no note, no car, and whiskey all over the kitchen. I thought you got attacked or something."  
"No, I just left in a hurry. Cas called, he's sick. I'm on my way to the store right now. Any idea what supplies I should pick up?"  
"Cas called? Really?"  
"Yeah. I was kinda surprised too."  
"Huh. What kind of sick? Deathly ill? Common cold?"  
"I don't know, I'm thinking bad cold or flu."  
"Well, get him some Tylenol to help with the fever - he has a fever, right?"  
"Hotter than Hell."

There was a moment of awkward silence where both brothers realized that the way they perceived that phrase, as opposed to the way any average person would perceive it, was very different and very unfortunate.

"Yeah get him some tylonol. He needs to keep hydrated so get a case of water and a two liter of ginger ale if they have any. Maybe pick up some soup?"  
"Alright, sounds good. I'll call you later, give you an update." Dean hung up.  
Sam sighed. He debated whether he should make Dean scrub the floor and table and clean up the mess he had made. He decided that it wasn't worth trying to avoid the sticky spots for however long Dean was gone. After all, he probably wouldn't be back today. Sam smiled. They all knew how Dean felt about Cas.

[I want to devote an entire chapter to the discussion Dean and Cas will be having when he gets back, so I'm ending it here. Input, feedback, comments, etc are welcome and requested! -gG]


	3. Chapter 3

Dean set down the bags he'd brought back from the store on the bed across from Castiel who was, by now, sleeping fitfully. He smiled weakly, thinking to himself that Cas really did look like a child all wrapped up in blankets. The ex-angel had a troubled look on his face. Dean wondered if it was physical discomfort or a bad dream that was plaguing his friend.

But Cas was more than a friend, wasn't he? Dean's smile faltered slightly. He knew, as all Hunters knew, not to let himself fall in love with anyone. Never, under any circumstance, could you allow yourself to fall in love. Hunting was the kind of profession where you were almost gauranteed to lose the thing you love the most. The closest any Hunter got to loving somebody was admitting to themselves that they needed a person. Admitting that without that person, they were willing to give up on everything. Recalling all of the times he had looked Castiel dead in those stormy blue eyes and said "I need you", he sighed.

"Dean?" Castiel's eyes fluttered open as he mumbled the name.  
"Right here. Didn't wanna wake you up. You need your beauty sleep, y'know?" He got up and sat beside Cas to reassure him of his presence.  
"I'm cold, Dean." Without a word, Dean stood and pulled the blankets off of the other bed, laying them neatly over Cas and tucking them in under his sides. He never thought about the action as he was doing it. It was just a natural response, almost involuntary. Castiel looked down at the blankets and then back up at Dean. His expression was one of wonder and mild confusion.  
"Are you hungry or anything? I got you some of that weird noodle soup stuff that college kids supposedly live off of. Ray-men or some kinda crap like that."  
"Yes, I'm quite hungry, actually."

Dean reached out and ruffled Castiel's hair, like he used to do to Sammy when he was sick, and walked over to the little kitchen attached to the main room. It was a rather nice motel room, over all. Not spectacular, but it was roomy and had a nice little kitchen complete with all the trimmings you might expect a motel room to have - a dingey white mini-fridge, a small sink, a microwave, a few cabinets full of pots and pans and tupperware, even a tiny little electric stove. He put the pot of water on the stove and set to work putting away the few groceries he'd brought back with him.  
"How'd you manage to afford a motel room anyway?" He called over his shoulder, trying to force the ginger ale to fit amongst the water bottles.  
"You forget that I've travelled with you and Sam before. I did learn some tricks along the way, you know."  
Dean grinned.

A few minutes later he was sitting on the edge of Castiel's bed again. Cas was propped up against the headbeard, eating soup in a comically slow fashion. He had been too hasty at first and burned his tongue. When Dean told him to slow down he took it VERY literally, as per usual. A cup of chamomile tea was cooling on the night stand. An open bottle of water sat next to an open pill bottle full of Tylonol.  
"You would make a good nurse or doctor, Dean." Cas said around a mouthful of noodles.  
Dean chuckled. "Only for you and Sammy. Everyone else can fend for themselves."  
"If you did enter the medical profession, would you be offended if I called you Doctor Sexy?" This made Dean's stomach jump. It spread a warmth through his chest and stomach, the same kind of warmth that he craved when he broke out the whiskey after a long hunt. That warm comfort, that cozy relief...That serenity. It made him feel good. Castiel was grinning up at him playfully. He seemed a little less tired than before, which was good. He gave a nervous laugh and grinned, but he didn't know how to answer.

"Dean, there's something you should know. It's very important to me that I tell you."  
"Okay...lay it on me." He shifted uncomfortably. This sounded like it would be an emotional discussion and he wasn't sure if he could handle that right now. Too much guilt too close to the surface. It was best to leave the floodgates closed and locked.  
"You have always treated yourself as if you were some sort of brutish, wicked thing that didn't deserve salvation or affection. But you have always been there when you were needed. You were always there for your father, even when he wasn't there for you. You were always there for Sam, even to this day. You were always there for me, too. I always thought of myself as your caretaker." Cas chuckled quietly. "Your guardian angel, if you'll pardon the cliche. But you're the caretaker, Dean. You've always been the caretaker. You're more of an angel than I ever was."

It seemed as if Dean had forgotten how to speak. Their eyes met for several silent moments. Dean's jaw clenched slightly and he swallowed, though his mouth and throat were quite dry. Castiel looked away first, his gaze redirected to his hands that were folded so neatly in his lap.  
"I'm sorry if that was too bold. I just felt the need to attempt to express how much I need you. It was the only way I could think of that might explain it to you."  
Dean was quiet. He nodded silently, contemplating a response. He couldn't come up with a verbal one, so he settled on leaning over and kissing Castiel's forehead lightly. Those blue eyes met his, this time full of shock and hope.  
"I get it. I need you, too, Cas."  
"I'm sorry I'm not an angel anymore."  
"Pfft. Yes you are."  
"I don't have my wings or powers anymore."  
Dean smiled. "You're my angel, fallen or not. Wings, no wings, all-powerful smite-y thingy or shitty aim with a shotgun. You're my angel."

Castiel looked lost in thought. Dean stood and bolted the door. It was getting dark out. He thought about calling Sam and telling him that he was going to stay the night, to make sure Cas was okay and all. He decided that Sam probably already knew that and flopped down on the second bed. He closed his eyes and tried to silence his racing thoughts. Cas had just, in essence, said "I love you" to him. Dean had, in essence, returned the sentiment. He had always thought himself a lady lover - it was all about the babes. But that was lust. The way Dean felt was far, far from lust. It was much more than that.

It was a warmth, like whiskey on the way down. It was a still serenity, like driving alone at night on one empty stretch of road. It was a feeling awfully close to love, but he wouldn't ever say that - not to himself and not to anyone else. It was, in Hunter terms, a feeling of desperate and passionate need.

"I'm cold, Dean."  
Castiel's words jolted Dean awake. Again, almost instinctively, he got up and threw himself down next to Cas. He untucked the blankets and shifted himself around until he was under the blankets with his back pressed against Castiel's.

He smiled to himself, a genuine smile, and let out a low, comfortable sigh as his angel turned over and wrapped his arms around him. He pushed himself further into Castiel's embrace.  
"Better?" Dean mumbled, already beginning to drift.  
"Yes."  
"Goodnight, Cas."  
"Dean?"  
"Yeah?"  
"I really do see you as a caretaker. As my guardian angel."  
"Caretaker, maybe. For you and Sam at least. I'm no angel, though. I'm just a screwed up, scratched up man."  
"Men can be angels, Dean. You're proof of that."

[[It's a safe bet that I'll be updating on Wednesdays for the most part. I don't know how I feel about this chapter - I feel like I strayed a little from Dean's natural character. Do you guys think I got a little too mushy with Dean? I hope you guys like it, though! Comments, feedback, etc. welcomed and requested! Enjoy your Thanksgiving, guys! - gG]]


	4. Chapter 4

"Dean?"

Dean was busy fiddling with the coffee pot, trying to get it to work even with it's frayed cord and cracked basket. He sighed in defeat and decided that it would take much less effort to drive down to the gas station and purchase some sub-par coffee and stale bagels.  
"What's up?" He called, wiping his hands on his pants in an attempt to get rid of the last few stray coffee grounds.  
"Oh. Good morning."  
" 'Oh'? " Dean chuckled, leaning against the partial wall between the main room and the kitchen. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
"I was just checking." Castiel said indignantly, propping himself up on his elbows and furrowing his brow at Dean. "I might have been dreaming, or hullicinating. Or you might have..."  
He looked away, trailed off, but Dean knew.

_Or you might have left._

He cleared his throat gruffly, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, I'm still here. And I'm not goin' anywhere. Except to get coffee. And some form of breakfast that will probably prove to be disappointing."  
"Can I come with you?" "You're supposed to be resting."  
"I can stay in the car. I'll bring a blanket, if it would put you at ease."  
He was quiet for a moment. He wasn't sure whether he loved or hated when Castiel gave him those puppy dog eyes. He didn't even mean to, was the worst part. They were just innocent and blue and every emotion shining in those irises was so genuine. It made it difficult for Dean to stay focused.  
"Fine." Dean sighed. "But you have to stay in the car, okay?"

As they walked outside into the morning chill, Dean took off his jacket and handed it to Cas.  
"Put this on."  
"Dean, you'll only be wearing a t-shirt. You'll be cold."  
"Yeah, well. You're sick, so you're priorty."  
Castiel took the jacket and stared after Dean as he walked around the hood of the Impala and slid into the driver's seat.

**- Castiel -**

Dean had gone inside to get food and coffee. Castiel was left sitting in a bundle of blankets, listening to the motor complain about the cold weather. He took a deep breath in, pulling the jacket closer to his face. It smelled of sweat, musk, salt, and smoke. It smelled like Dean.

Yes, Dean Winchester. Castiel remembered every moment he'd ever spent with Dean, from the moment he began to piece his tattered soul back together to the moment the driver side door shut behind him. He remembered every moment with Sam, too, and Bobby. But none of those memories were quite as crisp as the ones with Dean.

It had always baffled him that Dean believed himself to be responsible for the entire human population. What an unrealistic expectation of oneself. No wonder he was always miserable. There was no way to save the world. Everyone -deserved- to be saved, but few would ever actually experience such a thing. It seemed cruel.

Castiel smiled to himself. There was a time when he had wanted to save the world, too. He wanted to save a much smaller, much more important world. His own world. A world in which Dean Winchester and his brother Sam Winchester were all that mattered, where Dean's word meant more to him than the word of God himself, and where he struggled every day to figure out what he was feeling and why. As a human, the emotion he had spent all that time trying to identify seemed a little easier to name. It was a pretty word that they used to describe it. They used that word a lot in Heaven, especially when they spoke of God and of other Angels and of purpose...

Love.

He was, of course, blind to gender and race and even to appearance (although he had to admit that Dean was quite attractive). Castiel loved Dean for his strength, determination, and passion. And for all the little things, too. His sarcasm, his thoughtfulness, the way he acted around children (like the father he had always wanted, but never had), the way he was so easily distracted, the way he only showed his emotions when he thought no one was looking...

Castiel was always looking, though. He had seen Dean cry until, exhausted, he fell into a fitful sleep. He'd seen him drown his insecurities in sex and alcohol. Once, he had watched Dean completely destroy an old, unimportant car in Bobby's junkyard, sobbing and cursing all the while. But he only watched, never intervened. Dean needed to vent. Castiel actually thought of it as quite beautiful. He thought all Dean's emotions were beautiful. Even the darkest, most brutal emotions in Dean's heart were so raw and intense that, to Castiel at least, they possessed a certain kind of feral beauty.

His cheeks flushed red with embarassment as he thought of some of the more intense emotions he'd witnessed. He had always been told that lust was a sin, a terrible sin, but when he saw Dean expressing lust he thought that he must've misheard. His skin ached even now as he recalled the sights and sounds of lust. Those deep, gutteral snarls and the way sweat made his back glisten. The fluidity and confidence of each motion, each thrust, each kiss. He almost moaned aloud.

The car door opened suddenly and cold air assaulted Castiel's exposed face and neck, startling him and making him blush even harder as he tried to wave away the mental images he had been indugling in. Dean slid into the seat next to him and set the two cups of coffee down in the cup holders, placing a brown paper bag on the seat between them. He glanced over at Castiel briefly and gave a quiet laugh.

"You look like you just got caught doin' something bad, Cas."  
"You startled me. I was lost in thought."  
"Oh yeah? What were you thinkin' about?"  
"Trivial things."

For the first time in a long while, Castiel lied.

[[QUICK, WHILE THE INSPIRATION IS THERE, WRITE THE THING AND POST IT BEFORE YOU DELETE IT! Figured we could take a look in Castiel's brain - haven't had his point of view and the story 50% him! - gG]]


	5. Conclusion

[[A brief note: I'm having a lot of peronal issues as of late, so it may be best if I just end the story here. Otherwise updates will just be so infrequent and the quality will just go straight to hell and I don't want to hand you guys anything less than my best.

Feel free to pick it up on your own though! If any of you want to write Chapter 5 and onward, just credit me somewhere along the way. It would be really cool if you could PM me with a link to your work too, as I'd love to see where the story goes from here.

Much love, much thanks to all of you who favorited, followed, and/or simply took the time to read it! Seriously, thank you. I'd almost stopped writing entirely because I didn't think I was very good. I felt like my friends and family were somehow morally obligated to tell me they liked my writing, but having complete strangers read and enjoy it has given me the confidence to write again.

- grotesqueGrip]]


End file.
